


Empty Spaces

by aschicca



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, Post 513
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aschicca/pseuds/aschicca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Justin left for New York, Brian's life didn't change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Spaces

When Justin left for New York, Brian’s life didn’t change. He woke up every morning, showered, had breakfast at the Diner, then went to Kinnetik. He still created brilliant advertising campaigns, still terrorized half of his art department (all of it when he was having a particularly good day), still threw sarcastic remarks at Ted and pretended to boss around Cynthia, knowing full well she was as much in charge there as he.

Michael, the recaptured part of the “Brian and Mikey Show” that despite the hiatus now seemed to be back in full force (more or less), often found himself watching his best friend looking for something that could deny the apparent normality of Brian’s life. He was never able to find any proof that Brian was faking a calm he didn’t possess. Brian Kinney was as he had always been, almost as if Justin’s absence hadn’t even touched him. Almost as if Justin had never been such an important part of his life.

Oh, they still talked. Justin called Brian at least once a day and talked to him about everything that was happening to him in New York. Michael overheard one of these phone calls once. Brian listened intently to Justin’s voice, replied with a “yes” or a “no” every once in a while, asked if Justin needed money, then hung up. A very normal, very civil conversation.

The night Babylon reopened, Justin’s glaring absence didn’t sit well with Michael and the others. They expected Brian to be disappointed or maybe even hurt. He wasn’t. He attended, danced, laughed and seemed to enjoy himself as always. Once Brian started spending every single night at Babylon, the boys stopped worrying for him and just accepted that, once again, Brian had fallen on his feet. He was fine. Unbelievable yes, but he was fine. Brian Kinney was fine, brilliant, dazzling.

Except he really wasn’t.

***

His loft was empty. That’s what Brian often found himself thinking. It was fucking empty. Something was missing and it was driving him crazy. So Brian decided he needed to fill the emptiness and started leaving things here and there. He bought a sculpture (a fucking expensive hideous thing that he didn’t even like to look at) and placed it on the table. So what if that thing now occupied the same spot Justin’s computer had until he had to send it to New York along with other heavy shit that belonged to Justin that the kid couldn’t take with him right away?

Books and magazines may have replaced Justin’s sketches on every available surface of the loft (the little shit never seemed to stop drawing and leaving half-finished drafts of Rage/Brian’s cock/whatever every-fucking-where) but that didn’t mean Brian missed them. A new collection of Armani suits filled out his closet, new shirts and accessories crammed up his drawers. Brian needed new clothes, and that was the only reason why he had now more suits than he ever could wear; it had nothing to do with a certain empty part of the closet that glared at him every time he opened the doors to get dressed.

But there was still something missing.

Coming back from Babylon on a rainy night, Brian stopped by the door of his loft to try and shake the dirt and water from his shoes, then decided it was best to leave them by the door. Barefoot, he walked to his bedroom, disrobed and went to take a hot shower. Despite it being 2.55 a.m. - Brian tried hard not to dwell on the fact that he still came home before 3.00 a.m. - he wasn’t feeling sleepy, therefore he made his way to his desk to check on his emails. That was when he saw it.

His Gucci loafers were now in the same place Justin always toed off his sneakers when he came home. For some reason, the thought of his shoes taking over that particular spot gave Brian a satisfaction he didn’t want to analyze. From that moment on though, to leave his shoes by the door – there, right _there_ , fucking empty spot - became a habit for Brian.

Once all the empty places in Brian’s loft had been filled though, something still remained missing, still empty, and it was fucking driving him crazy. Nothing he did helped. Nothing, not even talking with Gus every evening on the phone. Although those phone calls Lindsay had Gus make to tell Brian about his day were usually the better part of _Brian’s_ day… in the end not even Gus’s little voice saying “I love you, Daddy!” filled the fucking void.

Brian was starting to think nothing ever would.

There were other phone calls, but those somehow made Brian feel the missing part (of himself?) even more. Justin called him every day. Justin called and his voice rang through Brian’s ears so loudly he often didn’t understand what the kid was saying. Brian managed to laugh and mumble a “yes” or a “no” at the right places, but if someone was to ask him what Justin had said Brian wouldn’t have been able to answer. It was his voice, Justin’s voice, a voice that suddenly replaced the silence in Brian’s loft. Justin’s voice was the only thing Brian was able to concentrate on. He often felt like a man kept under water for too long, a man that suddenly was given the chance to breathe again and the fresh air was all that mattered. Brian breathed in Justin’s voice like that man gulping down air. And if that thought wasn’t turning him into a goddamn lesbian, he didn’t know what could.

There was one time though, one phone call when Brian couldn’t help but listen to Justin’s words. It was, as Justin started calling it, the ‘Babylon fight’. Brian had gone out of his way to be sure Justin wouldn’t know the exact date Babylon was supposed to be reopened - for the lad’s good of course, he needed to concentrate on becoming a fucking success. He didn’t have time to waste. That was the only reason. Surely it wasn’t because if Justin had come home Brian would have kidnapped him and kept him locked away in that fucking huge mansion he didn’t seem to be able to sell – and of course, once Justin had received a phone call from an upset Emmett who was distressed that “his baby” seemed to have forgotten his friends, all Hell had broken lose. Brian wasn’t sure Justin had really forgiven him for precluding him from attending something he’d been a part of since “I was there when the fucking bomb went off and I had every right to be there to see Babylon back in all its glory and fuck you very much Brian!”. But the daily phone calls never ceased to arrive and Brian was still able to fill his lungs with Justin’s voice; so he thought everything was fine again.

Except it really wasn’t.

***

That Friday evening Brian was very tired. Work at Kinnetik, trying to meet a deadline before the weekend came, had been hectic that day, and he had to threaten to fire more than one of his employees (Theodore included and how irritating was that all the reaction he got from the accountant now was an eye roll?). Brian had stopped by the Diner to pick up something to eat, and by the sound of Deb’s voice he was in for a surprise dinner - “Turkey sandwich, hold the mayo. Yeah right. You look like shit tonight kiddo, you should eat more.” - and was completely ready to close his eyes and forget about the world for a while.

Stopping by the door to leave his shoes, he found himself staring at _the spot_. Brian’s expensive Prada shoes seemed to have been banished from their place by two worn looking sneakers that weirdly looked like Justin’s. Brian would have done something childish and completely out of character like rubbing his eyes, hadn’t he had his hands full with the Diner’s bag and his own briefcase.

Deciding he had to be even more tired than he felt, Brian left his outraged Prada besides the invading sneakers and stood there glaring at them for messing with his head. Or maybe willing them to disappear so his shoes could reclaim what was theirs and he could convince himself he still retained a bit of his sanity.

A noise coming from the steps leading to his bedroom distracted Brian from his reverie and a movement captured his eyes. A pair of socked feet were now standing in the middle of his loft. Brian knew that somehow it had to be the sneakers’ fault so he threw them another look full of venom before concentrating on the white socks that dared to keep the madness going.

White socks, grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt (fuck that’s one of mine, little shit!) later, Brian found himself staring into blue eyes. The most fucking amazing blue eyes he had ever seen. And he did **not** just think that.

“Brian, are you all right?” a puzzled voice ( _the_ voice) asked.

The Hallucination talked it seemed. Should he reply? Wouldn’t be better if he just ignored it so it could go away and leave Brian alone again?

“Brian?”

Right, the Hallucination (Justin?) was persistent. Not to be ignored. Was it such a surprise given the fact that the one it resembled was the most nagging boy in the whole world? “That little persistent kid has somehow gotten in under the wire.” Wasn’t that what Deb said when Brian had just fucked up (big surprise there too) and was about to discover the joy of rules?

“Okay Brian, stop with the weirdo shit now. You’re freaking me out.”

Me? I am freaking **you** out? Who the fuck do you think is having a Hallucination ( _Justin?_ ) here? But okay, I can do this. I can prove to you and myself that you are _not_ really here.

Brian moved. Actually, he didn’t realize he was moving until he suddenly found himself right in front of the Hallucination (Justin!). His hands wanted to touch, to prove, to convince that what the mind was seeing wasn’t real (‘Can’t be because he’s gone, he’s gone and I’m empty. Fucking empty’) but the briefcase and the Diner’s bag were in the way so he dropped them, startling the Hallucination (JustinJustinJustin).

And then he touched. Both his hands on that face, his eyes staring into the seemingly never-ending blue, his breath heavy and his whole body trembling. He touched the Hall…. Justin.

‘God, I missed you’. Those were the words in Brian’s mind.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” instead were the words out of Brian’s mouth.

Much to Brian’s surprise another eye roll was the answer he got (and for some reason that one wasn’t as annoying as Theodore’s was). And then his forehead found itself briefly pressed to a cooler one and his lips were kissed again after…. well after the last time _he_ had kissed them.

With his mouth full of Justin’s tongue, Brian forgot his fatigue and his dinner and just wrapped his arms around the slim but strong frame of the best fucking Hallucination he’d ever had guiding his partner back to the bedroom.

***

Naked flesh, _his_ flesh… hands roaming over it to touch, squeeze, caress. Kisses peppered all over it while listening to the heavenly sound of his moans. A body moving slowly under his, rubbing, tingling, bringing back to life every tiny spot it came in contact with. Sloppy, messy kisses all over a face he never really thought he could see again and maybe he had even tried to forget (yeah, right).

His cock buried deep into the only mouth who knew it enough to make every other meaningless blowjob he received every night in his Kingdom disappear. He had missed that mouth, that he could admit without feeling he was growing a twat. The things it could do, the ways it could creatively invent everytime new fashions to give pleasure, to have Brian thrash on the bed and make him lose control like nothing else.

A gasp, an intake of breath, a scream… Justin never was able to be silent when Brian’s tongue was working its magic in his ass. Hands on those firm, round globes Brian basked in the smell and the taste of the bubble butt that kept him coming back for more ever since the first time he’d had it despite all his attempts to drive it (and its owner, who was now emitting a vaguely amusing keening noise) away.

A laugh, a groan and a “Fuck me Brian! Fuck me!” and his condom covered cock found its way home. His hand on Justin’s cock, his chest flushed on his back, his mouth whispering nonsensical naughtiness in his ear.. Brian thrust inside the place he would deny ever calling home once his mind had started functioning again. He thrust like there was no tomorrow and delighted himself in hearing that voice - essential for his life like the air that was now heavy in his own burning lungs - screaming his name in ecstasy.

Brian came and his rasped voice returned the favor when a strangled “Justin!” made its way out of his mouth at the same time his cock emptied itself in the condom.

Exhausted, Brian rolled away from his lover, disposed of the condom and promptly fell asleep. If he realized Justin had covered them both with the duvet and had snuggled on his side, if he realized his own arm had made its way around Justin’s back and was now hugging him impossibly close, he surely could pretend he hadn’t. Couldn’t he?

***

Morning came too soon for Brian’s tastes, at least until he remembered that a) it was the weekend, b) they actually had met the deadline the day before so he could sleep until noon if he wanted to, and c) he had slept with a warm body curled around his all night and that was not something that had happened since… Brian stopped thinking about the last time it had happened.

Speaking of the warm body, where was it? Brian listened carefully and the loft this time didn’t answer with the fucking silence Brian had come to hate, instead it sent back the noises of someone preparing breakfast in his kitchen. Smiling, Brian made his way in the bathroom and then joined Justin in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Justin said, smiling when he saw him.

“Coffee?” was Brian’s answer and Justin laughed, shaking his head, and mumbling something that Brian didn’t catch and, for once, he chose to leave things that way.

Brian sipped his coffee, sitting on a stool on the kitchen counter and followed Justin’s every move with his eyes. The lad couldn’t keep the grin off his face, Brian noticed and tried to look elsewhere, but his eyes kept coming back to Justin. It wasn’t Brian’s fault if the blond was the most interesting thing in his loft, was it? A loft that, weirdly enough, didn’t seem empty at all all of a sudden. Brian toyed with this thought for a while, trying to find out how exactly he had been able to fill the void that had lately taken residency in his loft.

“Brian? You’re not starting again with the weirdness, are you?” Justin was looking at him with an expression that was only partially amused.

“I’m not weird. When was I weird?”

“I don’t know try… Last night for example?”

“Fucking sneakers,” left Brian’s mouth before he could control it and Justin’s “What?” didn’t help him either so he thought the conversation needed a change of direction, and decided to start right from where he had left the previous night.

“So what the fuck are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing Brian? I fucking missed you! And frankly your four words replies to my phone calls can only last me for a little while. Christ, aren’t you able to say more than ‘Hey… yes… no… bye’? It was a miracle if I ever heard your voice during those calls.” Despite the harsh tone of those words, Justin’s voice was controlled almost as if he wasn’t really angry, just tired.

Pissed with himself for analyzing the tone of Justin’s voice, Brian replied “Well now you saw me and you heard my voice. When are you going back?”.

He realized his mistake the instant his words left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back, and so he braced himself for Justin’s lash out.

What he got was not what he had expected. Justin was looking at him with tenderness in his eyes and a tiny grin on his face which pissed Brian off even more and made him get off the stool and start to walk back to the bedroom. He was _not_ to be ridiculed in his own fucking not-empty-anymore home.

Justin stopped him when Brian was a few feet from the stairs and forced him to turn around. The tenderness and the grin had disappeared and in their place was a serious expression that made Brian wish to have them back.

“I’m going back on Monday, Brian, but I’ll only be there a couple of weeks to take care of the last arrangements, and then I’m coming back home. And before you start blabbering to me about ‘running away’, let me paint a picture, I’m good with those. I live in a shithole – and stop giving me that look, I’m not taking your fucking money – I work as a waiter, and I almost don’t have time to paint. New York is not a romantic dream. It’s _reality_ , and you fucking need weapons to fight against it. I can’t find a better job without a diploma and I can’t keep hoping someone would someday knock at my door to offer me a solo show. I need to prioritize, concentrate on my _art_.”

Justin stopped then and they exchanged a look and a smile, both remembering the last time Justin had said those words and what had happened next. But Justin hadn’t finished yet.

“So I figured if I have to work as a waiter, I can very well do it here, at the Diner. And I’m hoping I could convince PIFA to let me finish my classes and get my diploma. That way, _if_ someday I’ll really need to spend some time in New York to get my art known, I’ll have the chance to support myself in a better way. Anyway, no one said I can’t paint in Pittsburgh and go to New York only to promote myself. No one.”

Brian felt he had to interrupt this tirade and allow Justin to catch his breath (damn that kid really could spit out a hundred of words a minute) so he asked “Are those the only reasons why you want to come back in the Pitts? Doesn’t New York have art schools?” And you could stay in the fucking new studio/apartment you’re letting me pay for from now on. But Brian valued his one ball therefore he didn’t say that out loud.

“Of course those are not the only reasons Brian! YOU are the main reason. You, you fucking infuriating idiot! Have you listened to a word I said? I miss you. I, Justin Taylor, miss you, Brian Kinney, even if for the love of God I can’t understand why right now”.

“Maybe you miss my cock.” Okay so Brian really had to say that. And he maybe, possibly wasn’t even joking.

“If that was the case,” a fuming Justin replied “I would be on my merry way by now since I got that last night. Brian listen to me, are you listening?”

Brian hated when people threw his own sentences at him. “Yes, fuck, I’m listening”.

“I want to come home. To you. I want to be here. I _need_ to be here. I love you, Brian Kinney. And I’m fucking man enough to admit it. I love New York and I plan on going back there often _with you_ , but I really don’t need to live there 24/7 ok? You’re always saying it’s my call where I want to be. Well I want to be here. So stop fighting me on this.”

Brian stopped fighting. He actually stopped thinking, and he thought that stopping talking would be a good idea since seriously who needed a fucking conversation when they could be… fucking? So he closed the gap between him and Justin and kissed him hard for a long time until Justin’s whispered “okay maybe I missed your cock too” followed by his laughter, made him throw the kid on his shoulder and spank the ass that was now dangling in front of his eyes.

About to turn around towards the bedroom, Brian’s eyes caught the sneakers and his Prada shoes laying together beside the door of the loft. Two pair of shoes where he was used to see only one. Two pair of shoes and suddenly nothing inside his house was empty anymore.

“Brian? Again? Are you ok?”

“Fine, Sunshine. I’m fine.” Brian replied while finally starting to climb the few steps to his bed.

And this time he really was.


End file.
